A 221B Adventure
by Riley W.M. Rookes
Summary: An old acquaintance drops by 221B. Read to find out what happens next.
1. The Return

Behind me, a door opens and closes. I don't move an inch.

"Who are you?" a cold voice asks.

"Mr. Holmes. It's wonderful to see you again." I respond, not turning around.

"Who are you? How did you get in here?"

"It's been years, Sherlock!"

"It's Mr. Holmes to you. Who are you? How did you get in here? What do you want?"

"Sherly, Mrs. Hudson left me in. I told her I was a potential client, which I am. As to who I am, figure it out yourself or have you forgotten how to?"

"You call me Sherly, only my family calls me that. You do not fit the description of any current family members, so you must be close to Mycroft. You've been traveling, the baggage tag on your suitcase says New York. You're British accent has a hint of American. So, either you're American with a very good British accent or you're British and spent a considerable amount of time faking an American accent. I'd say the latter case is true for you. The photo taped on your journal says that. By the look of you in the photo and the wear of the corners, I would estimate it's nine, ten years old. A tourist would have taken the picture two feet to the right to get a perfect view of Big Ben. You on the other hand, made sure to capture a little cafe on the other side at the expense of Big Ben, you're a 're sentimental. The battered pocket watch makes it obvious. It's relatively cheap and at least twenty years old. It would have cost less to buy a new one than the number of times you have had it repaired. Your glasses are more for look than actual use, the frame is thick as is the style now, but the prescription is so low that I'd say you didn't need them. Also, you're not wearing them in the photo on your journal cover. You wear them extremely close to your face. I'd say because you're hiding some undesired blemish on your face," Sherlock explains quickly.

"Good, now what's your deduction to whom I am?" I ask.

"A person who moved to America several years ago and then moved back here. I'm not completely sure why, but I have a few ideas. Do you care to explain?" he asks. I turn around and face him.

"Close, very close. I'll correct a few deductions for you. I was always closer to you than to Mycroft or have you completely forgotten about me? The photo is eight years old, however, it has been exposed to the elements more than an average journal would be. As for why I returned, I want you to find out who and why someone tried to kill me," I say as I remove the glasses to reveal a faint scar where a knife had been poised, ready to kill me almost seven years ago.

"Esme," Sherlock whispers.

* * *

Riley: Time for the legal garb. I'm only saying it once. Most characters are from BBC's Sherlock. Esme, however is my own creation as are a few other characters that will appear later in the , I haven't watched all the Sherlock shows, so I'm going to consider this (as they call it in the Doctor Who fandom) an AU (alternative universe).

Esme: Hello, everyone.

Riley: Oh, I forgot to mention, below that line, I'll have random conversations with Esme and/or other characters I have created.


	2. Meeting the Holmes Brothers

**22 YEARS AGO**

"David, Daniel, Darren, Esme, these are your cousins Mycroft and Sherlock. They'll be staying with us for a few days, so be nice to them," Aunt Lydia said as she led two _more_ boys into the backyard. For the last six years, I had been the only girl in my family's youngest generation.

"But they _aren't_ my cousins, _not really_. They're my _second_ cousins," I said, crossly. I was already very annoyed at having to play with three boys who picked on me not only because they were older and larger, but also because I was in the same class at school with them.

"They're still family, so be nice to them," Aunt Lydia said as she went back inside to offer these boys' parents tea, probably.

"Hello, Space and Esme," the younger boy said with a slight smile. I laughed, the triplets most definitely cause chaos in three dimensions.

"Don't be smart, Sherlock. I'm the smart one," the older boy snapped before asking, "Oh, is that a Maculinea Arion?" Then, he entered the thyme patch besides us.

"A what?"

"It's more commonly known as the Large Blue Lycaenidae," Sherlock said, slightly downcast, the triples looked at him with bewildered expressions.

"A big, blue butterfly," I explain.

"How do _you_ know?" David asks with his arms crossed.

"You morons!" I exclaim as I point over to where the older boy was crouched looking at a big blue butterfly.

"Ohhh" the triplets say in unison. I just shake my head as I walk away, pulling Sherlock with me. He's so stunned, he practically follows me to my hiding place. I climb to a wooden platform seven feet up an oak tree when I notice that Sherlock was still on the ground.

"Well, are you going to come up or not? I won't blame you if you don't. 'Space' never do. They're too scared," I say as I turn to get my telescope out of a small wooden box on the other side of the platform.

"Sherlock, you still down there?" I holler as I return to the other side of the platform.

"No," a voice says right behind me.

"I didn't hear you come up," I say after nearly drop my telescope.

"Why do you have all this stuff hanging from the branches?" Sherlock asks.

"Oh, sometimes, I pretend that I'm a… a pirate and well, that's how I… Well, that's my loot," I blush as I motion towards the stuff I had found in an abandoned lot nearby. Great, I've made a complete fool of myself in front of my only chance at a friend.

"I couldn't hear you, did you say pirate?" Sherlock asks.

"Maybe, why?" I respond in a measured voice.

"I want to be a pirate when I grow up."

"Really! So do I!" I say as I rush over to the wooden chest and pull out two newspaper hats. I hand one to Sherlock and put the other one on before climbing to a small platform higher in the tree.

"This is the crow's nest. I'd let you up here, but I'm afraid the it would break. You can steer the boat from over there," I say as I point to a hanging bicycle wheel.

"Aye, Aye, Captain Esme!" Sherlock says as he heard for the wheel with a paper hat on his head.

"First Mate Sherly, enemy boats at 6 o'clock!"

"Hey! Get down from there! Let's play Doctors and Daleks," Daniel hollered at us.

"We'll be the Doctors, and you can be the Daleks," David suggested.

"Never! Ye land loving dogs!" Sherlock hollered back. I'm impressed. He seemed so passive.

"Quiet down," Mycroft snapped at us.

"Make us!" Darren snaps back. Nobody noticed me climbing even higher into the tree, well they didn't until everyone but Sherlock got hit in the chest with an acorn.

"You're not supposed to be up there Essie, I'm telling Mom!" Daniel shouted when he noticed where the acorn had come from.

"You have no proof," I reply as I swing down to the main platform.

"What about the acorns you just threw at us?" Daniel pointed out.

"Early acorn season," Sherlock replied.

"Suspiciously early, especially since these acorns are much too green to have fallen naturally," Mycroft said as he walked towards the house, unripe acorn in his hand. I was busted.

* * *

**Riley:** Yay! Flashbacks! I plan to write more flashbacks throughout the story to give some background info on Esme's character.


	3. Another Familiar Face

"Right, so you do remember me. That's good. Now, I need to ask, can I stay at your place?" Sherlock just stared at me.

"Sherly? Sherlock?" I ask as he continues to stare at me. Suddenly, his demeanor changed. It would be imperceptible to anyone else, but I had grown up with him and I knew the signs. His shock had just been replaced with fury.

"I'll take that as a no," I said as I began to search the room for a good exit strategy. An angry Sherlock is a dangerous Sherlock and I really didn't want to take any chances.

"Get out," Sherlock said, his voice as sharp and cold as shards of ice. I scurried past him, knowing that right now, it would be best to leave him alone. I can come again tomorrow.

As I closed the door to the flat behind me, I heard someone heading up the stairs.

"If you're here to see Sherlock, beware. He's not in a good mood," I call to the person on the stairs.

"Is he ever in a good mood?" replies the voice on the stairs.

"Well, if you think that, then he's in a miserable mood," I smile.

"Either way, I put up with him," the man said as he came into view.

"Same here, but right now, he won't put up with me," I sigh. I think I understand how Sherlock feels, but it still hurts to be rejected by my closest friend.

"Do I know you?" the man said after he saw me.

"Yes, Hamish you do," I respond. John's eyes widen as he realizes who I am and how he knows me. Today's getting better and better.


	4. Hamish

**21 YEARS AGO**

"I heard that you're leaving, going to London."

"What do you want, Hamish?" I responded to the familiar voice located below my perch in the mulberry tree at school. I had received many a detention for being caught sitting here.

"Why do you call me that?" he asked annoyed.

"Why do I call you Hamish? Because it's your name."

"I'm _John_, John Watson!" he exclaimed, annoyed by my teasing.

"Yeah, John _Hamish_ Watson."

"Whatever," John rolled his eyes before asking, "Are the rumors true?"

"Yes and no. I'm going to Haverfordwest, not London"

"But why? Why are you going? I thought that you were happy here." I arched an eyebrow at him and he quickly added, "Relatively happy."

"I was, until my home was lit on fire and my second cousins - whom were also my adoptive family - were killed," I glared bitterly.

He hesitated before saying, "But why can't you stay here? Why Haverfordwest? It's so far away."

"Haverfordwest is not _that_ far away, only about a four-hour drive away. It's not like I'm moving to New York."

"You'll have to learn Welsh," Hamish said.

"Do you think I _want_ to go? I'm going to live with another family. It'll be my third one!"

"You, get down from that tree this instant!" a very cross voice shouted, causing me to flinch and slide out of the tree. I spot one of the teachers storming over to where John and I now stood - with all feet firmly planted on solid ground.

"I hope you have a good explanation for this," the teacher stormed at me.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Mortisan. It won't happen again. I promise," I say, knowing full well that was a promise I could and would keep.

"Oh, you're Esme Smith, aren't you," Mrs. Mortisan said softly after seeing my face. Mrs. Mortisan had never been _my_ teacher, but she was the triplets' teacher.

"Yes," I nodded.

"I'll let you off the hook this time. Um... I'm sorry for your loss... Your brothers, they were good kids, mischievous, but overall good kids," Mrs. Mortisan said sympathetically. I hated when people did that. I mean, I'm sure Mrs. Mortisan was sincere in what she said, but I didn't want to talk about the family I had just lost. I'm almost glad I was only four the last time this happened.

"Yes, ma'am," I say as she begins to leave.

"What are they going to do about not knowing Welsh?" John asked.

"I have no clue," I respond as the school bell rings, alerting us that it was time to go back to class.

"Well, see you Monday," John said as we headed back to the school building.

"I wish. I'm leaving tomorrow."

"Oh, I guess this is goodbye then. Don't be a stranger around here."

"I'll try," I smile a bit, the first time since that terrible night.


End file.
